


Flower Boy

by skyawlkers



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Florist!Newt, M/M, Tattoo artist!Thomas, florist/tattoo artist au, newtmas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6822997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyawlkers/pseuds/skyawlkers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt's neighbor is being irritatingly loud next door, so heads on over to fix the problem- but ends up going on a spontaneous coffee date with said neighbor. </p>
<p>*warning: cheesy pickup lines ensue*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flower Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is really the first fic I've posted (other than showing my friends), so be gentle with ur criticism pls.

He’s got his feet set up on an ottoman and his eyes are shut as he listens to the soft hum of the music coming from his record player across the room. Leaning back in the old chair, he rests his head against the back of it. Opening his eyes, he looks out the dusty window to see his next door neighbour coming into his room- _why doesn’t he ever close his damn window curtains?_  


The supposed tattoo artist sits a few bags down on his desk before he turns to a black box beside of his laptop. Newt shuts his eyes again, ignoring the man as he went back to listening to the sounds of violin and piano.  


As soon as he found a moment of peace, it went away. A loud beat of drums came from the window. Looking over, Newt found it to be his neighbour listening to music. _The bloody hell is he doing? Can he not turn that down?_  


Newt waited for the music to lower in volume, but that never came. Lifting himself from his chair, he stretched his back out. Grabbing a pair of shoes from the door, he slid them on, and walked outside and onto the pavement, adjusting to the cold autumn air as he had neglected to grab a jacket. Walking to the next apartment, he straightened his sweater and smoothed down his pants before knocking on the door, doubting the man could hear him over how obnoxiously loud his music was playing.  


After knocking on the door for several minutes, Newt grunted and began to turn and walk back to his store. At the last moment before he left, the door opened up, and a tall young man with scruffy brown hair came outside to greet Newt.  


With a smile on his face, the boy greeted Newt, “Um, hi.” He paused, a look of confusion covering his face as he looked at the grumpy florist.  


Newt, blandly with a hint of anger (and embarrassment, but he wouldn't say that), replied, “Hi. You think you could turn your music down?” The tattoo artist tilts his head and _oh god, who the bloody hell does he think he is with those goddamn puppy dog eyes?_  


“Sorry,” the artist explains with an upturn of his lip, “how about I make it up to you, huh? I turn off the music, then take you out for a date.”  


Newt’s cheeks turned rosy at that, not expecting the boy to be so cheeky, “You don’t even know my name, Greenie.” He wrapped his arms around himself as his neighbour shifted his weight.  


“You’re the guy that sells flowers next door. Newt, right?” Newt flushed again, and nodded, but stayed quiet, as he admittedly did not know the other boy’s name. “I’m Thomas. So, as soon as I run upstairs and turn off my music, wanna go grab some coffee?”  


Newt nodded and shuffled his feet while Thomas stared at him, a grin on his face that just emanated a mischievous nature about the boy, “Sure thing, Greenie. I’ll have a drink with you.”  


The artist smiled, and ran a few fingers through his short tousled hair, and turned his body to the side to let Newt inside his apartment while he waited, “It’s Thomas, flower boy. I’ll go turn off the music.” He smiled after shutting the door behind and ran up the stairs, shutting off the music quickly before meeting Newt back by the door and grabbing his coat. “There,” he smiled, “music's turned off, and we’re off to get coffee.”  


“Thanks, Tommy,” Newt replied, a small smile gracing his face as he was led down the street by the boy.  


“What for? I’m just doing my duty as a good neighbour to take my very good-looking florist friend out for coffee.” New scoffed at this, and looked to the ground as a soft blush graced his cheeks.  


“You’re just saying that so I don’t beat your ass for interrupting me tonight.”  
Thomas laughed and his body shook with the action and _jesus isn’t he cute?_ Shaking his head, Thomas looked down at Newt, though only a few inches shorter, “Well, I guess that too, but I must admit, you are still very good looking. I don’t lie about things like that, my friend. As an artist,” he said pointing to himself, “I have to be quite critical, and I must say, whoever created such a masterpiece as yourself, did quite a good job.”  


Newt, shocked as he was, paused in his steps while Thomas kept walking, “Did you just use a pickup line on me? About art? Are you serious?”  


Thomas laughed and nodded, “I do that often. You’ll get used to it.”  


After another few minutes of terrible pickup lines and cheeky grins, the two come upon an old coffee shop illuminated by a single light by the front counter and the name _Glader’s Coffeeshop_ written above the door, and Newt shakes his head in an admittedly sorrowful way.  


“Looks like it’s closed. We can come back tomorrow, if you’d like, Tommy.”  


Thomas shakes his head, and goes to pull a key from his coat pocket, “Nah, nah, it’s good, flower boy. My friend, Teresa, she owns the place. And on the off chance she does get pissed at us for going in, you can blame me.”  


Walking inside, Thomas walks forward after locking the door back, and turns in the lights in the back corner of the room where the two would sit. Standing behind the main counter, he smiles at Newt, “So, slinthead, what would you like to drink?”  


Newt smiles, a small reluctant upturn of the corner of his lip, and lets out a small, “Black coffee, please.”  


Thomas laughs, and goes about the small kitchen in the back making their drinks, “I would have expected you to have something a little more...extravagant ? But now, I guess I can see it.” He squints at Newt, as if scrunching up his eyes to look at an abstract painting.  


“You can tell what kind coffee a person drinks by how they look?” He scoffs, shaking his head at the boy, “Okay.”  


“You underestimate me, young padawan,” Newt groans at that. _This greenie is a tattoo artist, cute, and a damn nerd, all at once? God, I’m already whipped and it hasn’t even been an hour._  


Thomas laughed at Newt, and continued flitting around the small space. After finally coming to a stop, Thomas lead Newt around to the back booth and sat both drinks down.  


Newt sat on the red leather seat, Thomas following soon after. A comfortable silence filled the area as the two sipped at their drinks.  


After several moments of silence (save the occasional sounds of the two sipping at their coffees), Thomas spoke up, “So, where you from?”  


Newt grunted, taken by surprise as he had been looking past Thomas’ left ear and out the window, “What?”  


“Your accent- definitely not American.”  


“England.”  


Thomas chuckled, taking another sip of his coffee, “Knew that, you shank. Where in England? It is kind of a big country, y’know?” Newt nodded, and muttered a soft, “Southwark. It’s a place near London,” before returning to his drink.  


The other boy nodded, “I‘m from New York- City, that is. Moved to Cali a while back, but I’m here now.”  


“The Big Apple, aye? Why’d you leave a place like that? I hear it’s nice.”  


“Yeah, nice if you like being in large crowds. I, myself, don’t find it all that appealing. Wicked’s a pretty nice town, though. I think it’s good, at least.” Thomas paused, setting his empty cup down on the table, “What do you think about our little society here, flower boy?”  


Newt blushed at Thomas’ incessant use of the odd nickname, but replied nonetheless, “I like it. It’s quaint.”  


“It’s ‘quaint‘, he says.” Thomas chuckles, grinning at Newt, “you’re weird. People don’t say things are quaint, flower boy. We say they’re cool, or awesome, but you, you shank, you use old people words.”  


The florist flushes, “I don’t use _old people_ words, greenie. It’s called being eloquent.” The artist laughs, nodding, “Sure, sure.” Newt laid his now empty cup onto the table, then set his hands back into his lap while looking at a smiling Thomas.  


Thomas stood, taking both his and Newt’s cups, and walked over to the nearby trash can, and threw the empty cups inside. Coming to sit back down, he smirked at Newt and leaned forward on the table.  


“So, flower boy, how was your coffee? Good enough to come back for another?” Thomas chuckled at the faint pink now covering the other boy’s cheeks, “Cat got your tongue, shank?”  


Newt quickly nodded, body catching up with his mind, “ Um, yeah- yeah, Thomas, the coffee was pretty good- in fact, I wouldn’t mind getting the number of the guy who made it.”  


It was then Thomas’s turn to blush, scrambling to simultaneously grab a piece of paper and pen from his pockets, “I- I um, I don’t have any paper on me but, I- fuck, I can give it to you now and you can put it in your phone?” Newt laughed at the stuttering mess of a tattoo artist, handing him his phone to input his number, “Didn’t know you could be so nervous, Tommy.”  


Thomas gave a shy smile, “Don’t judge a book by a cover?” Newt shook his head.  


“It’s getting late. Think we should head back?”  


Looking behind him and out the window, “Yeah,” he paused, turning to look back at Newt, “want me to walk you back, shuck-face?”  


“We’re literally neighbors, Tommy, we’re going in the same direction.” Newt laughed.  


“Oh,” Thomas replied awkwardly, “I- I, um, I guess you’re right,”  


Standing, the two went to walk to the door, “But I guess you can walk me home.”  


“Sure thing, flower boy.”


End file.
